


tags updated

by shouldbeworking



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, additional tags inside, that’s the whole point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26163940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeworking/pseuds/shouldbeworking
Summary: Maruki ships it. Maybe a little too much.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 43
Kudos: 711





	tags updated

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to all the good folks who donated their ideas to this fic via [this twitter thread](https://twitter.com/shouldbewerking/status/1288288548035137537?s=20)! whether i managed to fit your idea into this strange story or not i super appreciate you 💕
> 
> fyi: there are some common fic tropes in this story that aren't noted in the tags, but will be tagged & displayed as a section header before they appear

_“Can’t you see it, Akechi-kun—you have to know that there’s a place where you belong as well!”_

In the heat of the moment it surprised Goro, the fervor with which Ren’s twisted therapist pleaded for their case. _Their_ case, specifically. Goro isn’t often surprised (though... he’s perhaps thought that about himself many times in the past year, always after he’s been proven wrong) and hadn’t been able to stop himself from glancing Ren’s way at Maruki’s words. Another reason to be grateful for the coverage of his mask. Little mistakes and unnecessary emotions well-hidden beneath metal.

Goro scrubs a hand down his face, stares sightlessly at the dark, featureless ceiling above him. His room is quiet, his apartment is quiet, his city is quiet. Nothing and no one but him and his thoughts, here.

Fine. He can admit it. That slip-up might also have had something to do with this new “love” thing.

“ _A life free from strife and pain, a life where you can be truly happy! I can see it so clearly,_ ” Maruki had said, staring directly at Goro, “ _and I can help you see it too!_ ”

Ominous.

Goro isn’t an idiot like Maruki thinks he is. Their confrontation is over for now, the Phantom Thieves have returned, their February deadline is set, and Goro Akechi knows three very important things:

  1. He knows Maruki has absolutely fixated on the idea of Ren being in love with Goro—this knowledge gained via the same mysterious way he’d seen into the desires of all the Phantom Thieves. And now Maruki is attempting to use this knowledge to affect Ren’s decision to accept his new reality.

  2. He knows Ren Amamiya is in fact in love with Goro, to some degree. And he didn’t even need to become a mythical god-king-whatever to do that—it’s fucking obvious. It’s always been fucking obvious.

  3. And, finally, Goro knows he’s in love with Ren as well. Undoubtedly more so than Ren is with him. It's fine, he's handling it.




But the interesting part, the real conundrum: it appears that Maruki himself doesn’t know about Goro’s recent affliction.

 _Affliction_ is the wrong word. As annoying as it is now, it was a conscious choice at the time. And it made sense. He couldn’t beat Joker and his little gang with his rage, he was just plain tired of hating Ren, exhausted by it, and it made for a beautiful finale: the warmth he let into his heart, acceptance, security, and determination coursing through his body—who wouldn’t want to die being loved, and feeling love in return?

The problem is. He’s back now. Un-dead. “Alive.” And the love is still here.

And worst of all, if he says a damn thing about it like Ren’s poor excuse for a therapist kept desperately hinting for him to do, Ren might throw away the entire damn world to keep Goro around. Lord knows Goro would, were their positions reversed.

Goro tosses in bed, slams his head against his pillow and groans pathetically at the idea of their positions reversing. And, as if summoned by sheer thought, the devil himself appears to light up the phone beside him: **Come to Leblanc**.

It’s past a reasonable time to leave his apartment. The Phantom Thieves never meet this late. The café has been closed for three hours now. Goro goes to Leblanc.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Sharing a Bed …?

It starts snowing as soon as he leaves his apartment. That should have been his first clue, in hindsight.

(He really never should have left his apartment at all, determined as he is to cockblock himself for the fate of the world, but the guy Goro likes texted him to come over _at night_ and he’s only human.)

Goro’s second clue should have been how hard the snow was falling by the time he made it to Leblanc. And his third and final clue is Ren himself, looking at him quizzically from inside his warm, dry, not snowy café and saying, “I didn’t text you.”

“Fantastic,” Goro grits out through his chattering teeth. “I’ll see you at the next infiltration, then.”

“Wait,” Ren stares at the lit-up screen of his own phone, idly grabs Goro’s elbow which is interesting, because Goro never had an elbow before Ren touched him there. “I did text you. But I didn’t. That’s weird.”

“Yes. Weird. Could you stop manhandling me?”

“Sorry.”

Goro finds himself ten degrees colder and shivers to compensate. He brushes a good amount of snow out of his hair for want of something to do.

“Well. Goodbye,” Goro says.

“You should stay,” Ren says.

Goro stays.

It snows harder than Goro’s ever seen in a lifetime of living in Tokyo. No trains are running in or out of Yongen-Jaya. Ren has a roof and a heater and an extra set of pajamas which smell fucking incredible and a lumpy, dusty, moldy couch. If Takuto Maruki had any ideas about anything else happening between them he should have remembered to set fire to the couch, to take care of the cat, and to also remember the fact that his reality sucks shit.

So Goro spends the night staring at the ceiling again, trying very hard not to be obvious about sniffing his shirt, and steadfastly ignoring the quiet, even, trusting breaths of his sleeping crush barely an arm's length away.

“The snowfall set world records, but it was localized exclusively to this part of the city,” Makoto announces to The Phantom Thieves of Heart Plus Two at their meeting the next morning, as if she’d been there to witness it or shovel it. “Awfully strange, isn’t it?”

“Think it’s Maruki?” Ryuji asks.

Makoto knits her eyebrows together. “We shouldn’t discount it, but I don’t see what this would have accomplished.”

“A test, perhaps,” Goro says to throw them off the trail. He takes another sip of his coffee—the third cup he’s had today, thanks to that damned couch. “He’s likely still exploring the extent of his abilities.”

“Could he possibly be attempting to isolate our leader from the rest of us?” hums Yusuke.

Ryuji latches onto that, getting too fired up for no reason. “Or bury him under the snow completely! That asshole—”

“If he wanted Joker dead I’m sure he would have killed him already,” Yusuke replies pleasantly. "Perhaps with a piano, or an anvil."

“He better not! And he better not do this again either!” Morgana says, shaking himself free of Futaba’s grasp and hopping onto the back of her seat cushion. “I can’t take another night of that! I didn’t sleep at all, and I need my beauty rest!”

A low chuckle sounds from the opposite side of the café, the farthest away from Goro one could possibly be.

“What,” Goro asks across the room, “is so funny.”

“You talk in your sleep,” Ren says.

“No I don’t,” Goro immediately counters, at the same time at least three other Thieves yell, “you _slept_ together!?”

“No,” he repeats, “I simply got stuck here and—”

“ _—there was only one bed_ ,” Futaba stage-whispers reverently.

“So I slept on the couch,” Goro growls, continues without missing a beat, “and I do not talk in my sleep.”

“You do!” Morgana screeches at him, while Goro wonders how long it would take to strangle a cat. “You never shut up!”

“We should have had a sleepover earlier,” Ren murmurs, voice somehow deafening from far away, the look on his face dangerous for a thousand reasons. “We’d have figured you out a lot quicker.”

But they never tell him what he talked about.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Fake Dating?

“What an interesting way to conduct an experiment,” Noir muses as they walk to the next trial, swinging her axe idly from side to side. “I wonder what purpose it could serve.”

“I don’t mi—“ Skull’s voice cracks, “—mind.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” Goro sighs. It's been three days and he's already tired of this shit. “They could demand anything of us. We need to be prepared to fight our way out.”

Another trap laid for them, another trap Goro walked straight into. A “social experiment” in “happiness” where their group is split into pairs. To act like they’re couples. Yeah, Goro’s read this one before. It’s a lot less fun living it. Even less fun getting shown up by Noir/Skull because Crow/Joker can’t fucking happen or else the universe collapses.

“You gotta loosen up man,” Skull says, bumping Goro’s shoulder and still cracking the dopey, loopy smile that he discovered sometime between when the Shadows requested they hold hands with their “partner” and when the Shadows requested they say one thing they liked about their “other half.”

Skull: _“I, uh, um. I uh, li—ahem. Like. How nice she is?”_

Noir: _“He’s so cute when he gets excited, like a big puppy dog!”_

Joker: _“He pushes me to be a better person.”_

Crow: _“Same.”_ And then, after multiple prompts and the very real threat of these Shadows blocking off their access to the rest of the Palace: _“his hair seems low-maintenance.”_

“I mean,” Skull continues, “what was up with that comment?”

“I have to spend a lot of time on my hair. It’s a compliment.”

“No, a compliment is ‘ _oooh Joker~ you did so good killing that Shadow! Oooh you’re so smart Joker~, excellent work figuring out that Shadow’s weakness!_ ’“

“Shut up.”

Goro doesn’t sound like that.

“Nah dude, you don’t scare me,” Skull says, but saunters away back to Noir anyway. There’s one final door in front of them, the last trial in this fake-“fake dating” fiasco. Hand-holding, complimenting, so… what next? A kiss on the cheek?

(He really doesn’t sound like that, does he?)

“Happiness can be found in the smallest of places and the simplest of ideas,” says the latest Shadow playing dress-up as a scientist. “For this exercise, you will gaze upon your partner and meditate on how they bring you joy.”

The four of them look at the Shadow in stunned silence, then examine the room. Four chairs, set up in pairs, facing each other.

“That’s it?” Noir asks.

“Look deeply into the eyes of your partner for three minutes,” confirms the Shadow. “That is all.”

Okay.

The handholding was briefly mind-shattering and then. Fine. Comfortable. Warm. (He can still feel the warmth, if he thinks about it. Could feel it then, through gloves and gauntlets and sharp metal which _should_ have been impossible.) The compliments were embarrassing but manageable in the end. And now all he has to do is look at Joker. For three… minutes…

The problem is—the problem is Joker’s eyes are his best feature. There’s a lot to like about him, obviously, but his eyes? Gorgeous. Resplendent. Stupid pretty. And Goro’s face is at least partially obscured behind his mask and visor but that doesn’t help him at all when he sits in his designated chair and looks directly at Ren Amamiya and Ren Amamiya stares back at him as if this were nothing, and it should be nothing, but Goro is in love with this idiot now and he can’t look away or talk or kill something even though he desperately wants to do anything but this because he feels completely exposed, like he’s wearing _nothing_ —this room is so fucking hot and this stupid chair is uncomfortable and are they really supposed to do this for three minutes, because Goro is already getting sweaty and it’s barely been three seconds and—

“Skull,” Noir whispers beside him, “relax.”

“ _You_ relax!” Skull shrieks.

“ _Sh_ ,” Joker says. Then he gives Goro the slightest quirk of his lips, the slightest raise of his eyebrows. _Them, huh?_

Goro takes a deep breath. The room cools a few degrees. He rolls his eyes in return: _pathetic, this is easy_ , and crosses his legs, determined to look the least affected of all of them.

Joker is still staring at him though. Which is the whole point.

God, he is pretty, though. Just, extraordinarily pleasant to look at. It’s irritating, honestly—Goro can’t help but feel justified in hating him for so long. There’s a perfect curl, glossy and elegant, sitting right above Joker’s mask.

Have they ever looked at each other this long before? Would there ever have been any reason to? Perhaps some early attempts at intimidation, before Goro found the stare-down technique ineffective against his stone-faced opponent. Careful observation during their competitions. Aborted attempts at flirting back when Goro hadn’t quite figured his shit out.

Maybe during their duel in Mementos. Or their showdown in the interrogation room—though that was never Ren at all. Maybe when Goro lost his mind and couldn’t see anything but _red_ and _hate_ and _Joker_.

But now he’s better. He feels better too—lighter, more secure. Goro was just playing along earlier but Joker was right: he’s a better person now for having met Ren Amamiya. At least, he thinks so. Hopes so.

They’ve been through a lot together.

“The experiment has concluded,” a voice behind them says, the Shadow he’d forgotten was watching. “Thank you for your cooperation, and we hope you will continue meditating on your happiness.”

Goro blinks, returns to himself, finds the three minutes passed in an instant.

And also finds that Joker‘s cheeks have a bit of color in them now. A rare, light shade of pink, obvious against the white of his mask. When his eyes land on Goro again he quickly looks away, clears his throat, stumbles a bit as he gets out of his chair, and says nothing at all.

So, Goro wins.

“You had to _what?_ ” Panther squawks when they regroup in the next safe room and relay their strange experience to the backup members.

“It was kind of adorable,” Oracle says from her bench, kicking her feet back and forth. “You guys got lucky—he could’ve made you do anything, you know. _Anything_. I’ve read the fics. Is this guy twelve or something?”

“Fix?” Fox mumbles.

“Hm. Maruki may have an unknown amount of power over his reality outside, but don’t forget that this,” Goro taps on the wall behind him for effect, “is still his Palace. I presume he has less control over this place, especially as we venture further into his subconscious.”

Skull scratches his head. “So all that was… what?”

“Nothing,” Goro reminds them, though they really should know this by now. “A part of Maruki, meaningless except for what it tells us about him.”

It tells them Takuto Maruki is the worst type of person: a romantic.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Soulmates

“ _What the fuck!?_ ” Goro leaps out of bed, shrieks as soon as he sees it.

“What the fuck, what the fuck,” he chants in his bathroom as he tries and fails to scrub it off with soap, until his wrist is red and irritated. “What the fuck.”

 **What the fuck is this** , he finally sends to the Phantom Thieves group chat along with a hastily-taken picture.

 **nice** , Ryuji immediately replies. Then says, **damn dude is that a real tattoo?**

Goro has a list of the three closest tattoo removal clinics and is looking through their reviews when Ann joins the chat: **nice**.

 **It is not a tattoo** , Goro types out furiously, **I did not get a tattoo**. He would remember getting a goddamn tattoo.

 **nice** , Haru responds. **Wasn’t there something in the news about this? It’s not just you, Akechi-kun**.

Goro immediately opens any news site. Notifications pop up in the meanwhile—

Fox: **nice**

Violet: **Nice!**

Queen: **nice**

Queen: **Does anyone else have one?**

Joker: **nice**

Noir: **Where is Futaba-chan? Is she still asleep?**

Joker: **mona says nice**

Joker: **i got one too**

Skull: **YO FORREAL**

Joker: **[photo attached, tap to view]**

Skull: **dude i want one???**

Skull: **wait are they all the same?**

No, they’re not all the same, Goro reads with dawning horror. Tattoo-like marks appearing overnight on the wrists of happily married and engaged couples throughout Tokyo, showcasing the month and date they first met.

In Goro and Ren’s case, 6/9.

Oracle: **NICE**

Oracle: **skjfjskshfjsksjdjsks**

Oracle: **NICENICENICENICENICE**

 **meet up at leblanc to discuss?** Ren sends to the group chat, when Goro already has one foot out the door. That piece of _shit_.

“This is too far!” he shouts, slamming open the door to Leblanc. The bell jingles aggressively behind him. “Hear that, Maruki!?” Goro yells at the ceiling, “ _too far!!”_

“This font isn’t very modern,” Yusuke says from his seat next to Ren, peering at Ren’s mark and manipulating his wrist all around like he’s a marionette.

“Hi, honey,” Ren says. Yoshizawa giggles.

“If he can alter our bodies like this who knows what else he can do?” Goro snarls. “We need to go to his Palace, _now_.”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down, Ren, I don’t want this _shit_ on my _arm_.”

“Yeah, a bunch of people online are actually kinda pissed,” Futaba pipes up from her corner, “Maruki’s gonna realize pretty quick that this stuff only works if it’s built into the lore of the world—it’s called ‘AU’ for a reason. You know what I mean, Akechi.”

“I don’t.”

“A ewe?” Makoto asks. Haru shrugs.

“Yeah you do~”

“Would you—”

“HarbingerOfRagnarok.”

Goro clamps his jaw shut, feels the blood drain from his body. “Slander,” he hisses out between his teeth.

“Oh my god just c’mere, harbinger.”

Goro does, strides past Ren and Yusuke and slips into the booth seat across from Futaba. Only because he would like to know how she found out his pen name, and because it looked like Ann was about to ask him what Futaba meant.

Futaba spins her laptop around so Goro can see the screen. On it there’s a long list of… _Fluff , Alternate Universe, Angst, Sexual Content_—yup, Goro knows what this is.

“What is this?” he asks.

“Quit it. You’re way past plausible deniability, H.O.R.” she says. “Did you know your pseudonym acronym-ed out to ‘whore’ when you picked it?”

No, he did not. “Would you get to the point,” Goro hisses.

“Fine. Lame.” Futaba flips to another tab, an empty user account titled, _cantstopworking_. “It’s you, me, and Maruki in this dumpster. We’re the only ones who speak his language, so we might be able to figure out his next play.”

Goro stares at the account page. What a stupid name he picked. “He doesn’t have any works? Or bookmarks?”

“Nope. Nothing private either.”

“And you can’t get help from any of these other morons?”

“Sorry HOR, you’re the only moron here who’s also this kind of nerd. Believe me, I checked 'em all.”

Goro inhales. Exhales. “My life is very stressful.”

“Yeah, sure. Would you shut up and look at the list?”

It’s not a very helpful list. The most popular tags and tropes are too vague, or too wildly different from this reality (or not different enough—is Goro’s life actually a coffee shop AU?), or too... _smutty_ for Maruki’s clearly vanilla, hopelessly romantic self.

Sometime after they’ve narrowed the list down to a useless few hundred, Ren slides into the seat next to him and hovers quietly. Utterly distracting, completely unhelpful—Goro watches as he rolls up his sleeve and holds out his wrist.

Ah. He hadn’t really seen it yet. There it is, just like Goro’s. 6/9.

“Nice,” Goro mumbles out of obligation. “But it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nothing does, unless we give it meaning ourselves.” Ren slightly elbows Goro’s side. “Can I see yours?”

Futaba makes a face. Goro ignores her. He reluctantly slips off his glove, rolls up his sleeve. Puts his right arm down on the table, palm up, beside Ren’s left. A perfect match.

But it doesn’t—it really doesn’t mean anything. They aren’t soulmates. Soulmates aren’t real. None of this is real. Goro isn’t even real.

Ren beams at him.

“Hey Akechi, how about this one,” Futaba spins her laptop around again, points at the screen and snickers.

Goro slams it closed before Ren can see.

“I would kill. Every. Single. Person. In this building. And then I would kill myself.”

A hush falls over the café. Ren just looks amused—he better not have seen it.

“Uh.”

“What’s happening?”

Goro shouts at the ceiling, unclear on how this works but willing to try literally anything: “I have a gun on my person and I know where the knives are, Maruki! I am not! Kidding! Around!”

“What the eff,” Ryuji mumbles.

“You have a gun!?” someone else shouts.

“Okaybutit’sdefinitelynotgonnahappen!” Futaba hisses, wrenching her laptop away from Goro’s white-knuckled grip. “Overreact much? It’s not even like, physically possible for you anyway…”

Goro has a fucking tattoo on his fucking arm—absolutely anything is possible and he can’t risk Maruki getting any ideas. But considering the way the rest of the room is staring at him… best to calm down. For now.

“What that really be so bad, though?” Ren murmurs good-naturedly from his side, just barely quiet enough to hear, elbows him again.

Goro glances back down at the mark, ink etched onto his skin, surprised every time that it’s still there, and quickly tugs down his sleeve to cover it. Now all it does is remind him of Ren’s stupid smile.

“Shut up.”

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Wrong Number

Goro loves Ren Amamiya.

This is the truth he decided on, back before any of this fake-reality madness started. He loves Ren now, loved him the moment before he died, probably even loved him before that. It’s unalterable. Maruki couldn’t create this feeling from nothing, can’t change it now, can’t change _him._ For all the complications it poses, Goro holds onto this truth like a lifeline, his love like a weapon, against this sham of a reality. As long as Goro loves Ren he’ll have the strength to push him away.

But goddamn if Maruki isn’t making it difficult.

Two days after everyone’s “soulmarks” disappear and the world conveniently forgets it ever happened, Goro dials the number of his hair stylist.

“ _Akechi?_ ” answers a voice that is decidedly not his stylist.

“Wrong number,” Goro says, and hangs up. He dials again, methodically typing out each number and double-checking that it’s correct.

“ _Hey again,_ ” Ren says.

“Fuck off.”

Goro tries a different number—his work line. The number isn’t common knowledge to keep his fans away, and no one should answer it considering the office is closed and it’s _Goro’s phone_.

“ _Miss me?_ ” Ren laughs, having picked up on the first ring. “ _Did you need something or did you—_ ”

Fine. Fine. This is just childish. Is Maruki taunting him? Goro hesitates a moment, then tries one last time, dials the worst number he can think of. Instead of his father answering with an annoyed “ _what now_ ” like he always did, Ren says: “ _yeah I’ll have an extra-large pizza, with—_ ”

“ _Fuck!!_ ” Goro shouts, and whips his phone across the room.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Huddling for Warmth

At least this time it wasn’t Goro who fell for it.

“This exact scenario just happened to me,” Goro says, “how did you not realize this was going to happen?”

Ren pulls Goro’s pathetic, ratty quilt around him tighter, shivers. “I thought you needed me.”

“When,” he pauses for effect—an effect somewhat dampened by a sudden and inescapable series of sneezes. “When have I ever needed you,” he finally finishes, cold and aching and miserable.

Ren falls silent.

A few hours ago Ren got a text from “Goro,” telling him to come to his apartment. Ren asked Goro where he lived and Goro did actually respond to that without thinking, not expecting Ren to show up on his doorstep a little time after, shivering and, of course, caught in the midst of another record-setting heavy snowstorm.

And then Goro’s heater died. Because of course it did.

Maybe they should just fuck and get it over with, Goro thinks semi-hysterically.

“I need you,” Ren says quietly.

Goro turns to look at him, finds the saddest little lump of mismatched clothes and shivering human he’s ever seen. Ren looks like a wet cat. Ren looks like someone just killed his wet cat. Ren looks like Goro just killed his wet cat.

“No, you know what,” Goro says, finds his voice rising to a higher pitch with each word, “I‘ve _had it!_ ”

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Language

“If this —— thinks he can —— — —— I’m going to —— his ——— —!”

Ren stares at him. Blinks.

“I’ll ——— —— and ——,” Goro shouts, “so far up his — he won’t be able to even glance and a ——— without —— — in his —— —— — —— ——!”

A tiny noise interrupts his tirade—an aborted snort. Ren looks like he might be about to burst out laughing and Goro is torn between slapping him because he’s annoying and slapping him because he’s cute.

“And you,” Goro hisses at him instead, “you ———.”

Ren bites his bottom lip and holds on for dear life. Points innocently at himself.

“Don’t you ——— dare laugh at this you —— — ——, I’ll — ——— ———— — —— and —— — — your —— —.”

“Is that even possible?”

“—— you,” Goro says. “If all this other ——— has been possible than clearly,” he looks up to the heavens, shouts as loud as he can directly at the source of his rage, “ _clearly_ that ——— piece of —— also has the power to —— his own ———— and — —— —— — ———— — ———— ——!“

“Holy shit,” Ren says, laughing out loud now.

“—— — ——— ——————— — — _my_ —— — — — —— ——— — _CHOKE ON IT!!_ ”

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Amnesia

He doesn’t know much about himself, for reasons that kind of slip away, but he knows he’s not one to let an opportunity pass him by. He’s the kind of person to really give something his all, once he’s set his mind to it. And his mind is on one very particular thing right now. Or rather, one particular person.

“You’re not yourself,” Pretty says, all legs and arms and shoulders and _very_ nice hair. “You don’t know who I am.”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Does it matter? Why don’t you go ahead and tell me about yourself so we can fix that,” he winks.

“I hate this,” Glasses mumbles, hunched over and pouting next to Pretty.

Pretty glances at Glasses, distracted—which is annoying. He shoots a quick glare at Glasses before turning his attention back to Pretty, who is hesitantly following directions. “My… ah, my name is Yusuke Kitagawa. I’m an art student at a local school.”

“Oh, you’re an artist?” he asks, batting his eyelashes at Pretty. “That’s so interesting~”

But Pretty just scoffs, looks even more uncomfortable than before. “This is preposterous. Get a hold of yourself, Akechi.”

“Honestly was not expecting this one,” Orange mutters to Glasses, “he must be getting desperate.”

“ _I’m_ getting desperate,” Glasses responds.

“Um,” a girl he hasn’t seen before with fluffy hair speaks up. “May I please try something?”

Orange shrugs.

Fluffy walks sidles past Glasses and Pretty, stands directly in front of him, and—

_SMACK!_

Oh.

Oh—oh, that. Goro places a gentle hand on his aching cheek. That… that worked. That worked?

Holy shit, what the hell—

Haru tilts her head quizzically, rears back for another slap.

“No, _wait I—!_ ”

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Bodyswap

The amnesia had lasted barely ten minutes, in all. Maruki must have seen the poor result or felt the distress of the Phantom Thieves or whatever it was that he did to keep tabs on them.

This situation, however. This _situation_ is now nearing the end of its fourth day, and Goro is starting to get worried he might never return to his own body at all.

He’d woken up in his own apartment, at least. And he and Futaba had prepared for this one—prepared in the sense that they considered it a possibility, not that they’d actually done anything about it, of course. Goro had blinked his eyes open four days ago, seen his apartment in perfect clarity, worried briefly that he’d left his contacts in overnight, and then worried a whole lot more when he scratched his head and found his hair to be quite a bit shorter. And thicker. And tangled. And not his.

Ren Amamiya’s body is nearly the same height as Goro’s, (just a little shorter, ha), but that is exactly where the similarities end. He’s so damn… _light_. Like his bones themselves are smaller or thinner or hollow like a bird’s are. Lithe and wispy and bendy and physically weaker, which Goro would usually enjoy knowing and lording over his rival, but he keeps dropping things and tripping over himself and his fingers are just the slightest bit longer than he’s used to which throws off everything, not to mention that Ren’s left hand is weak and uncoordinated as hell so Goro’s had to use his right hand for everything and—and. It’s just a lot.

Ren has perfect vision and an incredible body and untamable hair and a voice like molasses and Goro hasn’t jacked off this much since he first figured out how his dick worked.

“You really think this will fix it,” Goro asks the Phantom Thieves in their leader’s voice, standing outside the entrance to Mementos.

He’s staring at himself, if Goro Akechi had the terrible sense to wear his glasses out in public (Ren couldn’t figure out how to put in his contacts) and didn’t know how to style his hair (Ann showed him how to put it up in a ponytail, thank god), and stood with a hunch that Goro is sure would haunt him in thirty years if he weren’t already dead.

His body shrugs indifferently back at him. “It’s been four days,” his voice says. “Might as well try.”

They enter the Metaverse and, interestingly enough, keep their usual outfits on their swapped bodies. The _spirit of rebellion_ cannot be transferred or transformed, Goro supposes.

Joker’s outfit looks stupid in Goro’s body. His skin undertone is wrong, his hair color messes up the whole aesthetic, the loose fit of the clothes make him look huge and unwieldy. But Joker smirks his smirk on Goro’s face and Goro’s heart does something it shouldn’t because it’s still his _own damn face_ , even with Ren Amamiya shining through it so clearly.

“Are we ready?” Noir asks, standing between them and a little out of their way.

Skull takes up his position behind Goro. Violet stands behind Ren.

“I’m sorry in advance, Senpai,” Violet says.

“Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this,” Skull snickers.

Goro closes his eyes, braces himself. There’s no way this is going to work.

“ _God’s Hand!_ ”

“ _Brave Blade!_ ”

“ _Amrita Shower!_ ”

A whole lot of pain, collision, and confusion later, Goro heaves a shaking breath and looks up at Joker. The real, proper Joker. He falls to the ground in relief.

“I cannot believe that worked,” Queen grumbles off to the side.

Goro can, now that it did indeed work. There’s a pattern to these things. Maruki only tries his little schemes as long as he thinks they’ll work, and this one had clearly run its course.

“D’ya think we can do it again but with one of us?” Skull says excitedly, somewhere above Goro. “Hey Panther, c’mere!”

“No way, gross!”

Goro sighs, closes his eyes. It’s almost February now. Not much time left, for Maruki or for Goro. All he has to do is run out the clock.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Truth Serum

All he can think, when it starts to happen, is thank god. Thank god it’s here in this place, and thank god it’s with her, out of all of them. Thank god she made the stupid decision to ask him to join her for lunch and thank god he made the stupid decision to accept.

“Akechi-san?” Yoshizawa asks, turning to him after inhaling another gyoza. “Are you alright? You look a little—”

“ _No_ ,” Goro blurts out. “I’m not alright—” He grasps desperately at his scarf, trying unsuccessfully to choke himself as more comes pouring out: “I feel sick all the time, I can’t sleep—I’m so _tired_ , I’m going to die in two days and all I want to do is tell that stupid piece of shit that I love him but I _can’t!_ ”

Yoshizawa freezes in place and looks properly horrified.

All the careful walls Goro put up, all the practice pushing his emotions to the side, even his innate ability to hide himself, something he thought was core to who he is, his precious masks—all gone, all just out of reach. “I can’t—“ Goro gasps, putting his hands to his throat like that would help end this. “I can’t stop—it’s him again.”

“Doctor Maruki?”

Goro nods frantically. “Don’t tell the others—don’t tell them, they can’t see me like this, Ren can’t find out, you can’t let Maruki take this from me.”

Yoshizawa ushers him to a quieter part of the underground, hovers her hands in front of him and seems generally stricken.

“I-is there anything can I do, Akechi-san?” She asks, patting him hesitantly on the shoulder as Goro stares, confused, at the teardrops pouring down onto his coat.

“Nothing,” he barely manages to say. “Leave.”

Her little brows furrow in determination, mouth turns down in a pout. “That’s not right. You shouldn’t be stuck here, with me, while you go through this. We barely know each other, I-I’m still basically a stranger to you.”

“You’re one of my best friends,” he says, then claps his hands over his mouth.

“Oh dear. Um…” Goro would very badly like to strangle himself. “I have an idea!” Yoshizawa stands from their bench, looks around. No one seems to be paying them any attention at all—a small miracle. “Would you be okay being alone for just a moment?”

“No, but I’m always alone,” he sobs.

“Oh my goodness. Okay. Um. I’m so sorry, I’ll be right back—I’m just going into the shop right there, I’m sorry, please don’t move!”

As if he could, paralyzed by sorrow and fear and—and whatever the hell else is bubbling up to the surface now that he has nothing to hide beneath. What a miserable mess he is—how does he function day-to-day? How do other people function, if they feel a fraction as much as he’s being forced to feel now?

How long is this going to last?

Yoshizawa, true to her word, jogs back quickly with a small shopping bag around her wrist and settles back down on their bench. “I messaged Ren,” she says, “he’ll be here soon.”

“ _No!_ ” Goro knows crying and yelling is not a good look but he doesn’t care because “I told you—you cannot bring him into this!“

“Stop it! What you need right now is comfort and I‘m—I’m obviously not in a position to provide that for you.” Yoshizawa shouts him down pound for pound, passionate and unafraid. “I’ve seen you two together—you didn’t even have to tell me, I already knew! You’re not the only one who loves him, you know!”

Goro snarls, his rage boiling over just as easily as his sorrow. “You _love_ him? If you loved him you should have gone into that store and bought a fucking knife to cut my throat—spare your precious Senpai from the burden of a lovesick fool who’s only ever caused him grief and suffering!”

Yoshizawa’s jaw drops. “Akechi-san, you don’t mean that,” she whispers.

He doesn’t, but he does. Or does he? Is he just being dramatic? “I do mean it. Ren Amamiya is—he’s so fucking infuriatingly… _perfect_ —except for the parts of him that have been marred and infected by his proximity to me.” Yes, he’s being dramatic. Time to stop that now. “Yet I still selfishly want to cage him,” Goro continues, “hide him away from all of you people and keep him just for me, until the sun burns out and swallows us both. I want to lay him down on my bed and murder him slowly, passionately, take him apart piece by piece, because then at least I would have his death as mine and mine alone. I want to—“

Yoshizawa takes a roll of duct tape out of her shopping bag, rips a strip of it off the roll, and slaps it over his mouth. Goro blinks at her.

 _Thank you_ , he says, words completely muffled by the tape.

Yoshizawa doesn’t say a thing, just sits there and plays with her ponytail, her face burning a red shade even brighter than her hair.

They sit in silence for a while, as Goro slowly dehydrates himself through his eyes. When Ren finally arrives and spots Yoshizawa’s frantic waving he rushes over with an urgency Goro has rarely seen outside the Metaverse, comes to a standstill in front of them and stares and stares and stares. Goro feels his cheeks flush and even more tears fall in shame.

“I’m sorry for calling you so urgently, Senpai. Akechi-san is… um… he’s having some trouble. And I thought he might appreciate a, uh, a f-friend.”

 _I love you_ , Goro cries into the tape. _Don’t leave me._

Ren sits on Goro’s other side. “Is this real?” he asks. Straight and to the point.

Goro shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes his head again.

“I’m sorry,” Ren says. “This is all my fault.”

 _It’s not your fault_ , Goro says, shakes his head. _Don’t leave me._

Ren hugs him.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Ren always knows just what to do to take care of other people—Goro has always hated that about him. Hates how Ren puts so much of himself into the world, gives himself to everyone and anyone, and receives nothing in return. Hates how hard he makes Goro work to be his equal. But he refuses to be anything less, so he hugs him in return, squeezes him hard, and doesn’t say a word when he hears Ren sniff quietly against his neck.

He’s warm, and it’s nice. Yoshizawa was right. Goro does feel better.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Angst

  
The café is the quietest it’s ever been.

“Tell me this is another one of his tricks,” Ren says carefully, softly, as if he’s afraid speaking it aloud will make it real.

“It’s not.” _I’m sorry_ , Goro almost says. Better to not.

Ren goes silent.

Goro pushes.

They argue. Ren fights—Goro loves that about him.

Goro leaves Leblanc with Ren’s decision secured, leaves with his heart staring at his back. But he knows they made the right choice, the one he chose over and over and over again.

And it’s stupid—Goro knows that it’s stupid, but as he trudges back to his apartment for his final night, alone, all he can think is… it would be nice if those silly little soulmarks were real after all. If only so a piece of him could stay with Ren forever.

* * *

_Tags updated:_ Kissing (as a Distraction)

Fighting always came easy to Goro. Contrary to his image and the rest of his ridiculous life, he’s never bothered with a lot of strategy. Just, attack the thing. Attack the thing until the thing stops moving. And god, does it feel good to attack Takuto Maruki.

Though he wishes Maruki himself agreed, and would allow Goro to attack him more often.

“ _Big attack incoming!!_ ” Oracle screams from above, _again_. But this time they aren’t guarding. This time Oracle won’t be able to shield them fast enough. This time Maruki is going to win.

Goro refuses to let Maruki win—which means he has to let Maruki win.

He only remembers thinking _fuck it_ before ripping his mask off, grabbing Joker by his stupid collar, and smashing their faces together with about as much elegance as can be expected in the midst of a battle to decide the fate of the world.

An explosion sounds far to the left, missing them entirely. Joker growls and wraps his arms around Goro’s back.

“Ah- _ha!!_ ” Maruki shouts in triumph, somewhere far in the distance, somewhere that doesn’t matter at all. “I knew it!”

That’s not the end of it—the fight continues after their kiss, because it has to. Curtains don’t close. Credits don’t roll. Not until Maruki’s reality dissolves around them, and Goro finally feels himself slipping away quietly, peacefully, into darkness.

Here, at the end, he can’t help but wish for one final cliché. One he never enjoyed reading or writing, but really wouldn’t mind living.

If he had to endure all the others… couldn’t he have just this one?

  
  


  
  


“Took you long enough.”

Ren doesn’t even open his eyes right away when Goro takes a seat beside him, choosing instead to stretch and relax languidly against his seat back. Which is awfully rude of him.

“Good afternoon to you as well, Amamiya-kun,” Goro says as he gets comfortable himself. “You’re not surprised to see me?”

“You told me you were offended that I’d thought you died. So I stopped thinking that.”

“Ah.” Goro clears his throat. Takes a moment to adjust his gloves. And his tie. “Well then. Where are we going? I never did check the stops on this line.”

“It’s a surprise.”

The train starts to pick up speed. Streets and cars and buildings and trees whizz by. He’s never left this city, not in his entire life.

“By the way,” Goro says. “I love you.”

Ren beams at him, takes his hand. “I know.”

_Tags updated:_ Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

> catch me [@shouldbewerking](https://twitter.com/shouldbewerking)
> 
> and please look at [this incredible artwork](https://twitter.com/mara_dine/status/1299686498103627777?s=21) that [mara](https://twitter.com/Mara_dine?s=21) made based on this fic!!! 💕✨


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